Do You Ever Really Know Someone
by fiction over reality
Summary: non-magical. Draco/OC. Harry/?. This story is dark, it's depressing, it's a one-time shot.
1. Surface

**Author's Notes: **Non-magical. Draco/OC(s). Harry/?. This story is dark, it's depressing, none of my stories are going to be this way ever again. I had to do this. This... this is for me. Because if I don't get it out there, I think I'll implode.

**Edit: **When I first posted this story, I wrote: "Don't read, don't review, just let it be." Then I got a review that said: "If you don't want it read, then why publish it?" So now, that sentence exists no more. This story is out there. It's my story, but it's not forme anymore. It's for you. So, read. Review. Do as you please with it.

**Disclaimer: **These are the two wonderful characters of J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Some basics are the same as the books, but the plot is strictly mine.

xXx

You think you know someone. You think you matter to them, because, well, they matter the world to you. But then you find out that you were fucking invisible from the very start, and everything goes to shit.

"I was fucking there for you. I had your back when the whole world turned you down. My door was open when every other door was shut in your face, but I guess that didn't matter, did it? 'Cause in the end you chose him over me. You chose every-fucking-one over me."

He popped in his earphones, turned the volume on max, tried to drown the world out. But you can't really shut your brain, can you? It keeps working, even when you sleep. It keeps going over every scene, replaying every tragedy, analyzing every word.

He tried to bury his nose further down into his sweater. The wind had a chilly bite to it, but that's what you got when you climbed up a 40 story high building and sat on the roof. Sat on the very edge, just on the thin line between falling and flying, but not brave enough to attempt either. Sat there hugging your knees to your chest, raised your head to the sky, and tried to close your eyes against the blinding pain. The pain that threatened to crush your heart to tiny little pieces any minute now.

"Draco, you fucking arsehole."

Not that it mattered now, though, did it? It had never mattered. _He_ had never mattered. He'd just been too blind to see that. Blinded by the fickle light of hope, tricking him, seducing him into believing that one day, just one day, the stupid blonde would finally end the dysfunctional, pathetic long-distance relationship of two years with Eric. He had had it all planned out. Draco would be heartbroken, even though he'd never really loved Eric, and their relationship was long over, neither had just had the guts to admit that. But it would finally be over, without Harry having to ruin it, because it was already in ruins.

And then, then he would be there for Draco day and night. He would text him to sleep and try to say all the lame jokes that would make him laugh and take him out for a spin.

Then he would tell Draco how he really felt about him, and Draco would know. He would know, and he would choose, and he would choose Harry.

But that didn't quite happen.

Most of it did. Draco broke up with Eric. Or maybe Eric broke up with Draco. Harry had never thought to ask. Because Draco never told him that the relationship was over. He told his other friends. Harry had to find out from Ron who'd overheard Crabbe and Goyle talking about it. He found out Draco and Eric were over after they'd been over for a month.

It hurt. It hurt bad. But he didn't say anything. He talked to Draco even more than before, tried to be there for him without saying he was being there for him. He thought it was working. It had been working, hadn't it?

But then... then Draco got back with Eric.

"Draco, you fucking prick."

His friendship with the blonde hiccupped for a week. He avoided Draco, stayed home, mostly in bed, and whined about how shitty life was.

Then he realized that all this moping around wasn't helping anyone. Being around Draco was hard, but not being around him, now that was heartbreaking.

Another three months passed. Nothing changed during those three months. They became closer, told more secrets, found out more about each other's lives. Harry almost believed that Draco felt the same way about him. It was good. It was enough.

Some days it almost was. But other days, nothing was enough. His cooped up feelings would rush up and choke him with their intensity when they would play pool and he could see the perfect line of Draco's body as he leaned over the table, or when he would genuinely laugh at a joke Harry said, or when he would reach up to brush his hand through Harry's hair, trying to style it.

No, it wasn't enough. He wanted more. He wanted to feel Draco's hands on his body. He wanted to feel Draco's breath on his lips. He wanted... well, he wanted a lot of things, but he was too scared to tell Draco about them.

And then it was too late.

Draco found a nice guy, someone from his own 'calibre', and Harry could take it no more. He was tired. He was tired of being invisible. He found out that Hermione had helped get them together, and couldn't believe it. She'd known how he felt about Draco. And yet, she hadn't even given him a heads up. Nope, not even considered mentioning it to Harry that: "Hey, just so you know, I'm hooking up your crush with his crush, which isn't you, by the way."

It was too much. It was too fucking much. He'd pretended to be happy for Draco, 'cause after all, they were best mates, and he was supposed to support him. Wasn't he?

He thought he was. He thought he had. But every time he imagined Draco kissing someone else, touching someone else, fucking someone else... he felt sick to his stomach. It was disgusting. It was all disgusting.

He looked down at the street so many feet below him. He felt the wind sway him forward and thought about how easy it would be to stop pushing back against the wind to keep his footing. How easy it would be to just lean a little more forward, and fall off the edge.

He tried to imagine the rush. Would he faint before he reached the ground? _Probably not_. Would he hear the screams of the people walking on the sidewalk, watching him take a 'leap of faith'? _Possibly not_. Would his life flash before his eyes? _Definitely not_. Would he feel the impact?Of _course he would_.Would it hurt? _Of course it would_. How long would it hurt for before it all stopped? _Maybe too long_. How long before it all ended? _Perhaps too short_. Would anyone even miss him? _No._

Was he brave enough?

No.


	2. First Layer

He didn't remember his life always being this complicated.

But it had always been this hard. And lonely. So lonely.

He didn't know his parents. Wouldn't even know what they looked like if he hadn't seen the photos from back then. From back when they were still alive.

He still sometimes lay on the grass and stared blankly at the clouds above, thinking about who his parents were and what kind of a life they would have had.

Maybe he would have hated his dad. Maybe he would have fought with them all the time for some privacy or freedom. Maybe he would have run away from home and been as miserable as he was now.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. But there was no way of ever knowing for sure, was there? And besides, the grass is always greener on the other side.

He played with the black elastic band around his hand and sighed. What was the point? Daydreaming wasn't going to change anything.

He didn't have a family. He didn't even have that great a friend. He'd thought they would be there for him no matter what. He'd done everything for them. And they just deserted him to go help Draco with his crush, completely ignoring Harry.

What kind of a friendship was that? Fuck them all. He was better off on his own.

Wasn't he?

He ran his finger through the lilies that had grown around him and thought about his mother. Would she have hugged him and told him that everything was going to be alright, had she been here? Would they even be close enough for Harry to confess his darker feelings? The ones that would take hold of his heart and clench it tightly, so tightly, that he would have to curl into a ball and wrap his arms around himself and cry himself to sleep?

On those nights, he would stay up till the early morning, until he collapsed out of exhaustion. He would listen to music the whole night, trying to stop himself from thinking. Thinking about all that his life lacked, all the things he would never have. Draco.

Sleep never came easy to him. Tears did. They were a poor substitute, and his body suffered the consequences. He filled his body with caffeine every morning and forced himself to take a few bites of toast and keep it inside till it got digested. Sometimes the impulse to throw up became too much and it was all he could do to close his eyes, keep breathing, and forget about it.

But well, we all know how impossible that is.

When it closes up your throat and your stomach starts to churn and you know that you just _have _to bend over and empty all that's inside, it's impossible to just 'forget about it.'

But he did.

He got barely enough nutrients to keep him healthy, and he needed that minimum amount that he did manage to chew and swallow.

That's what he told himself.

But deep inside, he knew that the real reason was far from that. He didn't care about nutrients. He just didn't want another title to bring him down. The heavy weight of a word was not going to be added to the already-overbearing pile of problems on his shoulder and push him under the surface.

No, on top of everything else, he was not going to be bulimic.

He wasn't going to get drunk, smoke, or do drugs.

He was just going to tease his skin with a sharp razor every now and again.


	3. Middle Layer

Cutting is emo. It's pathetic. You cut because you're too chicken to go ahead and kill yourself for real.

Sure.

He didn't care. To him, it was just a way of getting away. Of forgetting. There is something about carrying a scar that is your secret. That you can walk around showing the whole world without them ever knowing its true identity. Because it does have an identity, doesn't it? It has a past, a reason, a fault.

When Draco texted him that he was over Eric and now dating Tom, Harry replied his congrats and gave him a pat on the back with a smile. But while texting that, he was breaking into smaller pieces inside.

He ran his finger over the fresh-looking scar that was the souvenir of that night. Draco knew his past. He knew Harry used to cut. Would he care if he knew that he was still cutting now?

Would Harry dare tell him the reason?

Harry knew Draco's past too. He knew that his father had pressured him into doing everything that he said his whole life. He knew that Draco had felt so trapped and alone in his life that when he was thirteen, he'd tried to hang himself in the school bathroom with a tie. He also knew that that had only resulted in him fainting and then waking up later on when the school's final bell had gone and had to go back home and pretend that everything was okay.

It wasn't okay. It was never okay.

Draco was just as broken as Harry was. Why couldn't he see that they fit perfectly? That Harry understood him? That he would never turn him away? That he would accept him no matter what?

If Draco was thinking about suicide again, he would tell him, wouldn't he? So shouldn't he tell Draco that he was cutting again? Didn't that matter? Wasn't it supposed to matter?

It didn't matter. He wasn't going to tell. You never tell, do you? You just keep it inside. Keep it all inside until it fills you up and you can't breathe anymore.

Then you can finally admit that you're fucked up and have a problem.

He knew that though. His life seemed to be filled with problems these days. He didn't need a lecture on it; he just needed to be left alone.

No, that was a lie. It was worse when he was alone. When he was surrounded by friends, they took his mind off it. When he was alone, his ever-present smile disappeared. His world submerged in darkness and tears filled his eyes.

He stood on the swing he'd been sitting on and slanted backwards, trying to get it to start swinging back and forth.

He spent his days in parks or fields, his nights on the roof of high buildings. He'd given up on wrapping his head around the kind of life he was living long ago. He'd chosen this over living at the foreign house that would never be his home; owned by his uncle and aunt.

The only problem was that _this_ wasn't home either.

He wasn't homeless. He could live with his relatives. He could live with his friends. Heck, he could even afford to buy a house on his own; thanks to the money his parents had left him.

He wasn't homeless. But he was home less.


	4. Bottom Layer

There was something about Harry that didn't meet the eye when you first met him.

You couldn't tell how broke he really was, deep inside.

If he knew you well enough, he'd tell you part of his past. He'd tell you that his parents were dead and how lonely it made him feel. He'd tell you that he used to cut and how empty it made him feel.

However, he would never tell you that he was cutting even now. He'd also never tell you about the one thing from his past that would haunt him forever.

He never spoke of that. But every night, he relived it all over again.

He'd been raped.

Draco knew. Ron knew.

No one else did.

It's not as if you can just walk up to someone and say, "Hey, I'm Harry, and I was raped when I was fourteen."

Instead he smiled, nodded his head, and pretended to be normal. Whole. A real person.

He wasn't. He was hollow. So very hollow inside.

He came close to feeling sorrow, or happiness, but he could never truly grasp either. He always felt at least partly detached. As if nothing concerned him. As if nothing could touch him.

It was probably because of his perspective on life. He knew that everything would be eventually over. Sadness wouldn't last forever, so why dwell on it? Happiness wouldn't encase you forever, why crave it?

There was nothing. Friendships didn't last, people died, they stabbed you in the back.

So what was the point of lowering the protective wall around you, of letting someone in, of trusting people?

There was only him, the haunting images of his past, and his problems weighing on his shoulders.

He'd just have to make it from day to day, until it was finally all over and it didn't hurt anymore.

It wasn't that he'd always been like this. He used to have a drive. A purpose. An aim in life.

But it's hard to hold on to that after everyone lets you down and fucks you up. It's hard to go on when all your B's at school turn into E's and you can't find enough motivation in yourself to bring the marks back up. When you get tired of disappointing everyone because you didn't work hard enough –by their standards, not yours. When you realize how easier it is to just stop caring and so you turn off all the emotions.

No, he hadn't always been this hollow. But now he cut school because he couldn't bear to see Draco and Tom together. Couldn't bear to see him laughing at _his _jokes, holding _his _hand, leaning on _him._

Now he no longer cared if his friends thought him a loner who wasn't going to achieve anything in life. Heck, he didn't care if he didn't achieve anything in life. He wasn't going to change his life to meet someone else's expectations. It was his life. He could do whatever the hell he wanted to.

He was tired of being so aimless though. He was tired of being so hollow. He just didn't know how not to be hollow anymore. he didn't know how to care again. Didn't have a clue how to revert back to his old (young?) self.

It was as if he was a china plate that had been broken into so many pieces for so long that somewhere along the line he lost pieces here and there. Now he couldn't put himself back together again without those missing pieces, could he?

He was broken for life.


	5. Core

He checked his phone again. Still no reply from Draco. Why did he keep waiting for a text that he knew he was never going to get?

The truth was that he hoped that one day Draco would finally notice that he wasn't in school. One day he would ask Harry what was wrong. One day, Harry wouldn't be invisible anymore.

Apparently today was not to be that day.

Why did he care anyway? He didn't. he did not care. Not one bit. He didn't care about anything; so why should Draco be an exception?

Because he loved him.

"I don't love him. He's not mine to love."

He loved him.

"He's not mine to love!"

He loved him.

"He's NOT mine!"

He still loved him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

He sighed, collapsed on the semi-dry grass and closed his eyes against the sun. If he were honest, even though he didn't care about anything, he noticed everything. He was an observer to it all. He knew how beautiful nature could be. How beautiful love could be. He could see himself in someone's arms under cherry blossoms and loving life, rolling in happiness. It was ironic: he had so much love to give, but it was all trapped inside of him with nowhere to go. That image in his head, it was never going to come true.

Birds sang and the sun chased the darkness away and everyone fell in love and life was beautiful.

Deep inside, he knew that.

But deeper still, what blocked that image from ever being anything more than wishful-thinking were the facts that friendships didn't last, people died, they stabbed you in the back.

The bitter reality of it all.

He checked his phone again. Of course there were no new messages. He thought about throwing the damn thing as far away from here as possible to save himself the heartache. But he knew he'd want it back after his tantrum was over.

He looked at his shaking hands. He didn't have to go through this. It could all be over.

No more worries. No problems. No Draco.

He knew how it could be. Over. He'd always known how to end it.

xXx

Night came and found Harry standing on the very edge of the roof. This was his very favourite spot. You could see the whole town from here. Just standing on the top and looking down gave you a rush.

Imagine the rush you'd feel falling the distance.

He raised his arms at his sides. Closed his eyes and breathed in the cool air. Slowly exhaled. Felt the unbelievably fast thumping of his heart, heard it in his ears. He hadn't felt this alive in years.

His lifted foot idled in the air as he took a deep breath and steadied himself.

He saw a picture in his head. A picture of himself, smiling. Happy. At peace.

His leg was swinging in the air, and then he was falling. He was falling and flying. He opened his eyes and a tear fell down from his eyes to the ground below. He was only falling in his mind. The only thing flying was his soul.

He opened his eyes and took a step back.

He was falling, falling on the inside. On the outside, he was still on the roof, feet firmly in place. He wasn't ready to give all of it up just yet. Not ready to let Draco go just yet. He could hope. Hope for a better day. As long as that possibility still existed, so would he.

Draco was meant to be with him, or he wasn't. There was no way of knowing that for sure. But he could try influencing the odds. He couldn't do that from the grave, now could he?

_Besides, he still wasn't brave enough to jump. And maybe, just maybe, that was a good thing._


End file.
